


Drunken Lullabies

by nyxxbx



Series: Bel'annar'is [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian Pavus is a Good Friend, Drunkenness, F/M, Friendship, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Mutual Pining, Protective Solas (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24469327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxxbx/pseuds/nyxxbx
Summary: Lavellan is brooding and Dorian has alcohol. Lavellan also has a crush on Solas and when you mix the four together you get : Drunken Lullabies.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Female Lavellan/Solas, Lavellan & Solas
Series: Bel'annar'is [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733095
Kudos: 22





	Drunken Lullabies

Her eyes narrowed at the parchment on her thighs as if that could will the dusk to let go of the setting sun if for a moment longer, so she could continue with her scribbling. 

The map of the Exalted Plains came to life as she dipped the quill into the ink, remnants of the liquid spilling over her dark weaved trousers, cold ink already grazing her skin beneath. She did not care. Lines, dots, circles, a swirling stroke over the elven ruin she remembered seeing in one of the tomes, a brush over the stream leading through, lines accentuating the waves. It was far from perfect, the way she tried to recall the surroundings and place them on the parchment. 

She hoped Solas would never get to see such embarassment.

The sound of her scribbling filled the darkening sky as she circled the place where they had last seen the pack of wolves, a small star aligning next to the messy swirl. _Affected by the rifts_ , she wrote, handwriting far from the delicate poise she practised while answering letters. Her Marked hand, stained with ink spots, brushed a recalcitrant lock out of the way, the moonlight tresses shifting behind her back in the swaying wind. 

She could still feel the stinging pricks of the former tight bun, pressing against her scalp. Josephine had decided to invite some of the nobles from Val Royeaux, who had promised and swore on their dead ancestors that their good graces could give the Inquisition some advantage. The Diplomat was, of course, ecstatic to accept and had agreed to arrange an introduction immediately. As one would expect, that meant Fen'rei Lavellan, _the_ Dalish Inquisitor, could not meet them while looking like a savage. 

The quill scratched against the parchment as she sharpened the beak of the crow, mind remembering the artwork of the fens, the water glistening beneath the humidity of the surroundings. She could make out the silhouettes of the strokes with great difficulty, the final rays of light drowning beneath the horizon.

The container rattled against the stone as she placed the quill back inside the empty porcelain, her lips letting out a sigh as she turned to stare at the scene before her. The rocks crumbled beneath the soles of her boots, the decrepit wall underneath her plummeting into the rundown part of Skyhold's garden. This part of the fortress was far away from the bustling centre where recruits would spar and practise, and it offered nothing but isolation, serenity and contemplation-- despite the damaged appearance.

Since becoming Thedas' last saving grace, the silence and tranquility she used to find in the forests of the Free Marches was simply a matter to reminisce about.

She gazed with wistful eyes at the emerging moon, the wind sharply whispering against her _vallaslin_ -carved cheekbones, the echoes of it mingling with the laughter from the tavern behind her. Iron Bull had suggested to her that she join them for a drink or two whenever she had the time, to pretend that she was not the Inquisitor, but a mere soldier fighting for survival.

She wanted to. _Creators_ , she knew she needed that form of comfort. 

It felt wrong, though.

At the end of the day, she was responsible for what their tommorow would bring, she would be at fault if they were to fall in mission gone wrong, ordered by her Worship. 

She was way past from being the outcast. They were her people now. Her responsibility. Her duty.

Her companions had accepted her, despite the occasional disapproval they expressed at her decisions – the scolding glance usually coming from either Vivienne or Cassandra – and they had shown that their trust and loyalty was with her. It was supposed to be gratifying, but instead, she felt annoyed by the notion. 

Why couldn't she have had a normal life as a Dalish? Hunting beasts to impress her Keeper, celebrating her _vallaslin_ with others in her Clan, being her brother's right hand once he became Keeper, settling down with someone who loves her and gifting them with a new family member. That fantasy always sounded idyllic and false, like it belonged in one of Varric's stories.

Like it never existed.

Perhaps, it was simply never meant for her.

Sighing, she scratched at her temple, nails tracing the outline of the scarring, throat tight and with an impenetrable lump consuming it. 

"Don't pick at it, Inquisitor, you'll make it worse." A pleasant voice sounded behind her and she flinched in surprise, cheeks flushing at the sudden intrusion. 

Her golden eyes settled on the strolling form of the necromancer and _altus_ , the wind blowing at the darkness of his impeccable locks. His feet, clad in sand-coloured leather boots, came to stand next to her form, careful not to trip over the quill and ink. His tongue clicked as he gazed at the surroundings before he sat next to her, ring-decorated fingers leaning back, a sigh leaving his full lips.

"Dorian–" She stuttered, the bottoms of her feet scraping against the rocks. A few pebbles dropped down the in to the snowy abyss. "You startled me." 

"Little, old me managed to startle the scary, rogue Inquisitor? How shocking." The lilt of his voice was teasing, his lips etched into a smirk. 

"How'd you find me?" She asked, head moving to the side in question, fingers moving to fold the map in her hands and place it next to her. 

"Why, you had the whole castle worried, my dear! A guard saw you hanging from this decrepit spot and alerted _entire_ Skyhold. The nobles thought you had jumped! The entire place is in uproar! Don't you hear the screaming?" He exclaimed, his eyebrows raising in mock surprise.

Fen'rei let out a chuckle, her head bowing down, the pressure that piled in her abdomen loosening with each syllable of his brazen words. 

"You saw me from the library window, didn't you?" She accused, golden slits narrowing.

"Clever little you!" His hand moved to rub at the top of her champagne locks. She let out a yelp, fingers swatting at the attempt, lips stretched into a playful grin. "There… that's much better. When I saw how miserable you looked from there, I had to come here and pester you with my wonderful presence."

"Dorian comes to the rescue? Do you have a soft spot for me, _'ma'halla_?" She found it effortless to allow herself to banter with the mage, shoulder bumping against his robe-covered one, the satin fabric smooth against the leather of her coat.

He let out a scoff, the granite in his eyes rolling.

"Please, you know I do. Especially, after that entire dramatic ordeal with my father. I know I've said it before but… thank you for being there with me." His eyes softened, and he looked down, gaze clouded by emotion.

Her brows furrowed, slender fingers coming to rest on his shoulder. She rubbed the covered skin there, fingertips circling the muscle. "You don't have to thank me, Dorian. I was happy to help and, honestly… I was even happier to know you would trust me with a matter as private and sensitive as that." 

His lips let out a breath, and Fen'rei sensed the concern flooding her stomach as she watched her friend struggle with the aftermath of that emotional encounter. Dorian let out a breathy chuckle, his gaze shifting to the darkened sky, faded constellations of stars etched into his irises. Fen'rei was certain she wasn't imagining the gathered crystals of liquid beneath his lashes, the black of the eyeliner smudged at the corner of his lids.

"Has he sent you letters?" She questioned, hand smooth against his shoulder blade.

He closed his eyes, lips letting out a sigh as he bowed his head, shoulders slumping.

"Oh… you know me so well. He did. An apology of sorts, typical regret you'd expect from him." The corner of his mustache twitched as he pursed his lips. "He hopes I find happiness within the Inquisition. _Happiness you could not find with your family_." He repeated bitterly. "As if it is my fault I did not live up to his perfect standards. All for his precious legacy." The words were spat out, and Fen'rei could almost taste the acidity upon hearing them.

He shook his head, plastering a tight grin on his lips. "No matter. I certainly did not come here to brood and wallow. I will not add that to your pile. You've done enough of that already." He concluded, voice back to its pleasant, teasing tone.

"Dorian–" she tried, hand enveloping his bicep.

She wanted him to continue, wanted him to spit out the disappointment, the hurt, the indignation, the craving for acceptance. It was a familiar feeling, more familiar than she was ready to admit. 

Shaking his head in rejection, a mischievous grin enveloped his features. "No, _no_ … I have a bit of a surprise, your Grace."

His hands disappeared behind his tall, lean frame and Fen'rei fought a chuckle as he revealed the surprise. The cherry-shaded glass bottle glowed under the moonlight, the shining of the stars eclipsed in the reflection of it. He plucked the cap off with a pop, bringing the bottle closer to his hooked nose, sniffing before letting out a satisfied breath. 

Fen'rei furrowed her brows, sensing the aroma immediately. "Is that–"

"Vint-9 Rowan's Rose.." he exclaimed, his full lips opening to indulge in a generous sip, the apple of his throat moving as it coursed down. " _Ah_! I once heard nobles talk about this sort. One said that the mere taste of this on the tip of your tongue is supposed to bring you comfort when you're drowning in misery." He let out a scoff as he took another gulp. "Someone should give this to Corypheus. Perhaps he would tone it down with the shitting on the carpet."

Fen'rei let out a laugh, her hands wrapping around her abdomen. The bruises were fading, but still tender and a prick of pain was always there whenever she laughed, almost as if her body was punishing her for being cheerful amidst the ruin and chaos of war.

"I knew you wouldn't have come here just to talk." She muttered, head shaking as she watched him take another gulp, high cheekbones already flushed from the liquor. 

"Oh, you wound this pure heart of mine! I came here to drag my friend's arse out of whatever miserable shithole she trapped herself in. And that smile on your face proves to me that it's working. So, indulge me…" he extended the bottle towards her.

"You're joking, yes?" She questioned, an amused scoff escaping her.

"When was the last time I joked, my dearest?" He continued to prod, the glass whispering against her fiddling fingers.

"I'm the Inquisitor!" 

" _Precisely_."

She watched him with a raised eyebrow, her eyes crinkling at the edges. Her fingers fiddled with their siblings as she pondered whether she should accept the offer of letting loose, if for a moment, or whether she should uphold her reputation as the leader. As if on cue, the back of her scalp pricked with stings and her mind sparked up the tortuous reminders of the conversations she endured with the nobles hours prior.

A rebellious spirit sprouted inside her and she let out a sigh. " _Oh_ … why not?" She said dryly, fingers enveloping the bottle.

The edge tipped over, the burning liquour spreading over her tongue and down the sensitive flesh of her throat. The sensation was new, and quick to awaken her senses with the beginnings of a drunken haze. The scorching heat traversed through her mouth and she let out a cough, her eyes closing to stop the prickling of tears at the corner of her golden eyes. 

Dorian let out a laugh, palms of his hands moving against one another as he clapped. "That's the spirit, my dearest!"

“That is revolting!” She exclaimed, sputtering.

“ _Ah_ , _ah_ … give it a second.” Dorian said as he indulged in another sip.

The burning taste spread down to her stomach and she felt strange warmth course through her. A faint taste of cherry and cinnamon remained on her tongue and she furrowed her brows.

“Well?” Dorian prodded.

Fen’rei shook her head, letting out a deep sigh. “Hand it over, you _ass_.”

The night burned over the sky like the alcohol upon her tongue. Sip after sip, gulp after gulp, Fen'rei couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so genuinely, so freely, without ever stopping to think about what was to come next. Dorian's company, the glibness of his words as they conversed and the numbing, sweet liquour were enough to distract her from the looming responsibilities of her duties. Her legs tingled after the fourth sip, the sensation like frozen particles itching at the inside of her tendons. 

She had no perception of time, but she thought the night was long, stretching and so mesmerising with the twinkling canvas above her and the cold melody of the wind, the hum closely reminding her to the hidden lull of Solas' silken voice. The flesh of her throat tickled as she let out a giggle.

Her tongue had developed a mind of its own, swirling aimlessly as she tried to form words. 

"Dorian… but truly the Inqu--" her brows furrowed, expression lost, "The Inqui _sh_ \-- _fen'edhis_.. this…" she gestured around, one arm outstretched towards the moonlight-silhouetted fortress, "This wouldn't be the same without you. You're perfect for us." She uttered, head lolling to rest on his muscled shoulder.

Dorian let out a rich laugh. "Listen to yourself… so graceful and articulate." Dorian teased, his words clear in contrast to hers. "It's no wonder Solas has his eyes on you." 

Fen'rei's locks tickled his skin as she choked on a giggle, a cough leaving her throat. Her Marked hand came to rest upon her forehead, and Dorian could see the ghost of a timid smile hidden beneath lithe, trembling fingers. She murmured something incomprehensible, her tone soft in the drunken haze. 

"Oh, look at you! All flustered and stuttering. How precious!" He continued his onslaught of teasing.

Fen'rei could feel her brows furrow at his teasing words, a warm sensation flooding through her chest and down into her stomach as she heard the utter of his name.

 _Or_ perhaps it was the alcohol coursing through her, she couldn't be certain. Her burning forehead leaned into the cool flesh of his arm and she let out a complaining whine as her brain focused on creating a witty remark.

"That's… it is– you're incorrect." She managed through the slur of words, a tired smile resting upon her parted lips.

Dorian's hearty laughter echoed into the courtyard of Skyhold, travelling over the stone skeleton. "About the blushing or Solas? You'll have to be more precise, Inquisitor." 

Her throat rasped as she let out a mutter, head raising from its spot on Dorian's arm, eyes narrowing into irritated slits, cheeks aflame and burning with a flush. She untagled herself from her spot, hand moving to grip the mage's shoulder as she stood up and turned towards the ruined part of the wall. Her feet stumbled, rocks plummeting down the mountain and she let out a giggle, her arms spreading. The wind picked at the halo of her hair, her form swaying. She let out a loud breath, refreshing whispers of the breeze nicking at her tunic and the fabric of her dark trousers.

"In fact, Dorian…”, she mocked, “you're all _inccorrect_! About – _uh_ … well… everything!” She started tentatively, eyes alight in childlike enthusiasm as she listened to the echo of her voice over the mountains. "Everything is just… incorrect!" Her tone raised in confidence. "My clan, the Chantry, the war, _fucking_ Orlais!" She swayed, and Dorian stood up, hands already itching to grab onto her before she plummeted into the dark abyss below them. "Cory _phenis_ too!"

The backs of her feet stumbled, rocks complaining as her boots crunched over them.

Dorian's eyes widened, mind sobering up as he bolted towards her form, grabbing her around her waist to rescue her from her own uncoordinated movements.

" _Kaffas_ , you'll get yourself killed!" He pulled her backwards and she fell onto his chest, lips etched in a silly grin, giggles escaping her. "Andraste's flaming arse, if Varric ever sees you shitfaced like this, Inquisitor… you and Solas will be crowned Chuckles and Giggles." 

Her laughs continued, and he could see crystalline tears gather at the corners of her eyes, the onslaught continuing. 

"You're funn- _eh_ …" she murmured into his chest, hands pressed hard against his robes to keep herself steady.

Dorian shook his head. He leaned down to grab onto the empty bottle of alcohol on the ground, the wind chipping icily at his form and Fen'rei swayed along with his movements, the weight of her relying completely on him, as if he were her Anchor. 

She let out a yelp, eyes widening as she struggled to balance herself, the gold turning darker in dismay. Her hips leaned on the stone barrier behind her, the wind tangling her locks, her head lolling to the side. A lazy smile etched onto her features, and her fingers traced over her lips wistfully.

"You– you think there's Solas and I–" she murmured, the remainder of her sentence shushed by her palm as she leaned onto it.

"Hold steady." He ordered, his voice shaking.

His hands numbly collected the map, the empty container of ink and the quill in his fingers. He contemplated collecting the empty bottle, ultimately shaking his head, promising himself he'd return tommorow. 

Dorian turned towards the Inquisitor, finding her in a peaceful daze as she hummed to herself, the lilt of her voice a pleasing melody. Dorian sighed and placed his arm around her shoulders. 

"Hold onto me, Giggles. We wouldn't want you to trip and fall to your death." He advised as they began their trek back to her quarters. 

"I thought… you told me to hold steady–" she stumbled, her arm instinctively tightening around his neck as they continued. 

Dorian could feel his own feet misstep, a painful reminder that he had indulged in the alcohol, as well. 

" _Vishante kaffas_! Hold steady onto me then!" He snapped, though a laugh left him as he watched her tiptoe silently over the stone floor.

"Shhh… Skyhold is sleeping." She muttered.

Her surroundings were a blur as she moved, her stomach churning with nausea, the pace that Dorian was keeping a bit too quick for her sluggish eyes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was screaming at her, scolding, revolted and angry and she could feel a pit of regret already forming beneath her throat.

Perhaps, it was the alcohol losing its effect.

As they stepped into the main hall, her eyes immediately registered the wooden, inviting, tempting door to her quarters, resigned so tantalisingly far away. She could imagine the satin sheets calling to her, the warm embrace of her bed, deep pull of the black hole sleep presented to her. She had never felt so tired, not even after spending entire days drenched in the torrent of the Storm Coast. 

Her feet itched to run towards it, body suddenly coursing with adrenaline and she wasn't certain, but she could sense the faster pace she had created. Chilled hands enveloped her waist and her throat let out a whine. 

"Giggles, I don't think that's the smartest cause of action, you–" 

Dorian's soothing voice faltered and she could feel him freeze next to her. Shaking her head to snap out of the daze, she looked around to see what had made him react so. 

Her golden eyes came into contact with the amused silver ones and a raised, questioning brow. Her gaze shifted downwards to his lupine, narrowed nose; full, rose-coloured lips quirked in an upward manner, so tempting– his arms flush against his chest, crossed and lean, muscled. His head was slightly tilted to the side and despite the defensive posture in his arms, he looked inviting, scent of parchment and crackling energy surrounding him.

 _Fen'harel ver na_ , what was wrong with him?

"Sola–" she murmured, and Dorian gripped her waist to silence her.

"Solas." He said, voice modulated as they looked at each other.

She could feel the pull of Dorian's back as he straightened and her nose let out a snort in amusement at his desperate action of steadying himself. Her throat tickled as she giggled, dazed eyes focusing on Solas. 

His hands were empty, but she noticed emerald and turquoise streaks of paint covering the undersides of his slender fingers, the circular creases reminding her of the wooden edge of a brush as he moved it, skillfully, gracefully, handsomely–

"Dorian." His voice echoed softly across the vast hall.

She let out a small gasp, the silent hiss of his voice sensitive to her ears.

Overwhelming. Everything was overwhelming.

The emptiness of the marble walls around her, Dorian's algid fingers holding her, the sudden shifting of the floor behind her as she focused on it, Solas' entrancing scent that grounded her and yet made her feel like she was effortlessly falling through the air. 

"Inquisitor." He had murmured and she could feel his gaze on her. 

She met his eyes and a bubble of laughter tickled at her throat. His eyes were crinkled and his jaw was clenched and he looked so… _good_.

"Yes… you’re good…" she tried, a giggle escaping her as she clung to Dorian's shoulder.

"I suppose she's far too incoherent to make sense of this display." Solas' voice was a lullaby to her ears and she found her lids blinking at a much slower rate than before.

"How very observant of you." Dorian muttered sarcastically. 

"I also assume she didn't get intoxicated on her own?"

“My goodness, what big eyes you have.”

Solas let out a sigh, his head lowering as he shook it. She watched the motion and felt something claw at her stomach. The part of her mind that was defeated by that blasted liquour was fighting through, creating a tornado of guilt and shame that ravaged the bubble of carelessness she had adopted. 

The elf before her looked disappointed. Weary lines creased his hooded lids, making him seem exhausted, defeated, like he hadn't slept for a millennia.

 _He always looks like this, burdened and heavy_ , Fen'rei realised. 

She didn't want to make his perspective on her change. She was not a young _da'len_ bubbling through bouts of recalcitrance, searching for a way to satisfy her teenage urges. She was the Inquisitor, a Mark for the ages. 

_Fen’edhis_ , I am making a fool of myself.

The sense of self-recognition seemed to sober her up and she stumbled away from Dorian's grasp, spine arching to straighten her posture. Her lips pursed, as she looked at the quizzical glances of the two men. 

"Dorian and I did have a– _uh_ …", despite the forced sobering, the tendrils of her mind still struggled sluggishly to grasp onto her thoughts, "We had a few drinks _h_ too many."

She cleared her throat.

Solas raised a straight eyebrow, his lips quirking in a concealed smirk, but she noticed. Her heart fluttered and suddenly she didn't feel drunk on liquour, but on him.

Damn him. Jaw tightening, she clenched her hands.

"But, we are both fine. And we can return to… our beds--", _no that did not sound right_ , "uh--quarters just as well, Solas." She reassured, a smile etching onto her lips. 

Should she just leave? She can't just leave.

What should she say? Good night does not sound right. Maybe she should try Elvhen.

Or should she bow? It worked on the Orlesian nobles, they drank the sight in.

They were not Orlesians, though, they were her friends-- _well…_ _one is a bit more than that_ , she thought, eyes flickering to his. 

"Thank you for the alcoh– a nice evening. Dorian." Her tongue stumbled and she momentarily blinked in embarrassment, cheeks fluttering with crimson.

"Don't mention it, Giggles." Dorian let out dryly, lips teasing at a smirk as she struck him with a lidded glare. "Here are your essentials, dearest. Do try not to die on your way up." He ruffled her already bristly tresses.

The motion tickled and involuntarily, she let out a giggle as she grasped the ink and quill, the parchment sliding numbly into her fingers. Another wave of crimson struck her face and she wanted to crawl into a hole, eyes glancing at the amused, silent gaze of the elf beside her. 

Dorian's footsteps stretched into the empty vastness of the hall, stumbling slightly but still graceful nonetheless – she felt a pit of jealousy at that, in truth, the world was dizzying around her – the wood creaking as he disappeared behind it, leaving Solas and Fen'rei in a tense silence.

She turned to Solas, feeling her leather-covered heel trip over her toes. Her throat almost let out a yelp, but at the last second she straightened herself, humming a scolding tune. A tight-lipped, embarassed smile graced her feature and she swore she saw Solas swallow a bark of laughter. 

" _Ir abelash_ , Solas." Her Elvhen was slurred, but she managed a charming nod to hide it. At least, she hoped. "For disturbing you." She added for effect, revelling in the way his head tilted to the side in mirth. 

The distance between them remained the same, but somehow it seemed to close in on her.

Was he getting closer? Was she getting closer? Was he controlling the space around them, shifting the continuum so they could erase the distance between them? 

Hands enveloped her elbows and she blinked, lips parting to release a gasp.

"Inquisitor!" He had uttered, his features light with amusement. 

Her brows furrowed at the title, and she could feel the annoyance bristling at her tongue.

She looked around, her feet awkwardly planted on the ground, as if they were stopped from going airborne, her surroundings moving and shifting before her.

_Was she in the Fade?_

Solas let out a rough chuckle, fingers rubbing lines over her forearms, creating irritating shivers that coursed through her veins, blending with the magic of the Anchor. She looked at him with a crinkle between her brows, head tilting to the side in confusion. 

"No, _letha'lin_ , we are not in the Fade. Well… not this time." He said and the crinkle between her brows deepened.

Did she say that out loud?

Her golden eyes shifted to look around once more and the tremor was still there, swirling and dizzying, making her limbs numb.

"Everything's moving." She mumbled, and she could feel his arm slip around her waist, a timid whimper escaping her at the touch of his flesh against the leather of her coat. 

"Inquisitor, can you stand?" Solas questioned, though, his voice had turned stronger, more serious, the tone he used every day with everyone.

She didn't want to be everyone.

“Yes, of course.” She deadpanned.

"This is no trick of the Fade, _letha'lin_. You are… to put it simply, drunk." He answered.

She let out a whine, head landing against his chest.

She rubbed her forehead there, the fabric of his sweater cool against her scorching skin, her nose barely grazing the edges of the jawbone that hung loosely around his shoulders. Her hands were pressed between them, gripping the parchment of the map and empty ink set-up. She hoped it did not annoy him. His heart was fluttering against her ear and she could feel the sharp intake of breath he had taken upon her spontaneous contact.

Humming, she looked up at him. "You smell nice." 

His eyes were bristling with an intensity she could not describe. There was a depth hidden there, an ancient mystery, one she had no permission to unlock just yet. He always looked burdened, defeated, stricken with grief that was far more entangled and complex than the loss of Haven and the appearance of Corypheus. It was gnawing, striking, wrenching; it reminded her of the stories he would tell he had seen in the Fade, the images so vivid.

His lips were quirked in a smile and he was scouring her features, beginning at the scar on her forehead, glowering down at her narrowed nose, chapped and dry lips and the edge of her mouth that she was certain was stained with remnants of liquour.

The thought made red flowers bloom across her cheekbones and she lowered her head in shame. 

Lithe, desperate fingers on her jaw emitted another gasp from her and with widened eyes, she let another gaze enrapture her.

They could never get enough. It was never enough. Words, gazes, kisses. Once was never sufficient. 

He let out a sigh, and she could see chains grasp onto him, disabling him from giving in, a restraint she was far too familiar with. His hand traced the small of her back, before he let it settle on her elbow once more, keeping her stumbling feet steady, safe at a distance. 

"Perhaps, I should help you to your quarters, Inquisitor? You don't seem too secure on your feet." He questioned politely, and she despised it, the stoic tone of his voice. 

Frustration bloomed in her stomach.

"I am a rogue!" She exclaimed. "I have to be secure on my _feets_ …"

She wanted to lay her head on his chest. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted his voice to enrapture her with a story about a Fade spirit he had encountered and how it had shown him wisdom he once may have found to be lacking. She wanted him to brush the hair out of her face. To feel those fingertips tracing her flesh, to know that she was close to him.

The truth was, she felt safe with him around her.

But, at this moment, she was annoyed. Irritated with his restraint. Frustrated with her childlike behaviour and intoxication. The audacity of this frustrating elf, to ask if she can walk. He wished to escort her to her quarters? Such proposition was… _well_ …

She shook her head, irritated and embarrassed.

"I'll manage. The Inquisitor is your Grace… she has to manage! A few of those things— _uh_ … they won't stop me." She had mumbled, nodding her head towards him, lips stretched in a smile.

He was stunned for a moment – something that made her swell with pride – and then his eyebrow raised in hidden amusement. He crossed his arms, tilting his head.

 _Fen'edhis_ , the movement was minimal, and yet so very delicate. She could feel her heart swell.

"Are you quite certain, Inquisitor?" He questioned.

She had to leave. To flee. Before she invited him up there and let him have his way with her.

" _Yesh_!" She exclaimed.

Fen’rei retreated from him and pleaded with her legs to not stumble so she wouldn’t drop face down onto the marble floor. Her footsteps were imbalanced, ungracious and she felt embarrassment seep through her flesh and burn away the pale complexion. 

His gaze did not stray from her wobbling form until she disappeared behind the wooden doors. 

**Author's Note:**

> Elvhen belongs to Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen  
> Fen'edhis - wolf's dick, essentially  
> Fen'harel ver na - Dread Wolf take me  
> Da'len - a child
> 
> Tevene is from the Wiki page  
> Kaffas - shit  
> Vishante kaffas - you shit on my tongue


End file.
